forty-five

Harper’s father arranged for bail. After all the red tape was formally dealt with and her bond was posted, she was finally released. Once she was home, Donald called Nigel and me and asked us to come over. I could tell that he was anxious about the police’s case against Harper and hoped that I might be able to help. I watched Harper now as she sat on her living room couch snuggling with a sleeping Gracie. Her normally perfectly styled hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her usually tailored clothes were wrinkled and mismatched. Purple smudges stood out against the pale skin under her eyes. But as she gazed down at Gracie, I thought I’d never seen her more content. It was as if Dan’s death was forgotten—or no longer mattered. I wasn’t sure which was better—or worse—depending on your viewpoint.

“I appreciate your coming over, Nic,” Donald said as he handed Nigel and I each a glass of scotch. “But the sooner we figure out who really killed Dan, the better this will all be for Harper.”

“Of course, Mr. Remington,” I said as I glanced back at Harper. She smiled down at Gracie, lightly tracing her finger over her cheek. I couldn’t tell if she’d even heard her father’s words.

“Have you been able to find out anything so far?” Donald asked.

I took a sip of my drink and nodded. “I have, actually,” I said. “But not all of it helps Harper’s case, I’m afraid.”

Donald sat down heavily in the chair next to mine. His face appeared to have aged ten years over the past few days. “I know Harper didn’t kill her husband,” he said. “Which means someone else did. Which means there’s evidence. We just need to find it.”

“I agree with you,” I said. “But we need to be able to explain some of Harper’s actions. For instance, why did she tell the police that she’d never been to Dan’s work apartment, and yet was captured on video doing exactly that?”

Both Donald and I looked over to Harper, who was still absorbed with Gracie. “Harper,” Donald said now, his tone gentle, “Why did you go to Dan’s apartment that night?”

Harper slowly tore her gaze away from Gracie. “Hmmm?” she asked.

Donald frowned. “Why did you go to Dan’s?” he repeated, his tone less patient.

Harper blinked at her father; her blue eyes unsure. “Because I knew he wasn’t there,” she said in a small voice. “I was looking for evidence.”

“What kind of evidence?” Donald asked.

Harper glanced again at Gracie before answering. “I wanted to know if he was having an affair,” she said. “I thought if I found evidence, it would help me in the divorce. So one day I took his key and made a copy of it.”

“Did you find anything?” I asked.

Harper shook her head. “No. Nothing. I looked all over that apartment. There wasn’t anything there; no condoms, no tea. I searched his desk, too. All that was there was a copy of his manuscript, a copy of that Yeti play he was trying to produce, and a query letter from a playwright. There were notes for the manuscript all over his desk. There were notes written in the margins of that play he wanted to produce, too. That’s what I don’t get. It really seemed like he was working there.”

“That’s interesting,” I said.

Donald looked at me sharply. “Why is that?” he asked.

“Because when I got there, there wasn’t anything on his desk,” I said. “No manuscript, no play, and no query letter. In fact, there were no work-related papers in his apartment at all.”

“I don’t understand,” Donald said. “Are you saying the killer took the manuscript?”’

I stared at my glass. “I’m not sure,” I said after a minute. “I could see why someone might want to get rid of the book Dan was working on. It sounds as if it was full of stories that might embarrass more than one person. But why would they take the play and a query letter?”

I looked to Harper but she shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “It was just your basic query letter asking Dan to read the play and give feedback.”

“Do you remember who it was from?” I asked. “Come on, put that photographic memory to use.”

Harper closed her eyes in concentration. “It was a funny name, I remember that,” she said. After a minute it came to her. “Lockhart,” she said. “It was from a G. Lockhart.”

Before I could say anything, there was a knock on the door. Donald excused himself and went to answer it. We heard male voices in the hallway and then a second later Donald reappeared. Fletcher followed close behind.

Seeing Harper, Fletcher’s face relaxed. “Oh my dear girl,” he said as he crossed the room to stand next to her. “You poor, poor thing. I was horrified when I heard that you’d been arrested. It’s simply absurd! If there is anything you need from me, I hope you will only ask.”

Harper looked up at Fletcher and produced a polite if not slightly perplexed smile. “That’s very kind of you,” she said.

Fletcher took a seat next to her on the couch. “My dear, knowing your mother as I did makes me think of you as part of my own family.”

From my peripheral vision, I saw Donald’s face blanch in revulsion.

“Oh, well, thank you,” Harper said before quickly glancing at her father. Donald stared at Fletcher as if a troll had suddenly sprouted in Harper’s living room.

Fletcher now smiled. “I know you must think me presumptuous,” he said, “and perhaps I am. But I didn’t get to where I am in this life by not stepping forward and speaking my mind. I go after what I want, and right now what I want is to make sure that you don’t go to jail.”

Harper flinched slightly at his words. The movement startled Gracie, who woke with a jerk and began to cry. Harper snuggled her close and tried to soothe her but to no avail. After a minute, she said, “I think she might be hungry. If you’ll excuse me.”

Fletcher watched her leave the room with an expression of approval. “The bond between a mother and her child,” he mused. “There’s nothing quite like it. One of the rare things on this earth that should be protected and treasured.” He suddenly turned to me and asked, “Do you have any children, Mrs. Martini?”

“Does Skippy count?” I asked, nodding my head to where he was sprawled on the floor next to my chair.

Fletcher’s gaze moved to where Skippy lay on the floor belly up and paws in the air. It was a position that Nigel had dubbed the Upside-Down Superman. Fletcher offered an indulgent smile. “Not exactly,” he said.

I looked over at Skippy. “I’d like to see you try and tell him that,” I said.

Fletcher laughed. “Well, you are still young,” he said. “You still have time. I’ve always believed that one of life’s greatest joys is to have a child,” he said.

“So I have heard,” I replied diplomatically. I couldn’t remember if Fletcher had children of his own and didn’t think it polite to ask. I needn’t have worried. Fletcher was apparently in a sharing mood. “I never had any children,” he said. “Although I wanted to. Very badly, in fact.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Fletcher smiled sadly. “So am I. I came close to settling down a couple of times, but unfortunately, I had to end it. The women I considered marrying had very different ideas of motherhood from myself.”

“Oh, I see,” I said, when in fact I had no idea what he was talking about.

Fletcher nodded at me as if we understood each other. “I thought you might,” he said. “Mothers are meant to stay home with their babies. This new trend of mothers going back to work is appalling. It’s why our country is in the mess it’s in today. Children need to come home every day to a house that is clean, orderly, and smells of freshly baked cookies.”

I began to wonder if Fletcher Levin had recently had a stroke.

“Mothers are the ones who instill their children with a sense of right and wrong,” he continued. “They teach them manners and how to act in polite society.”

“And what do fathers do exactly?” I asked.

Fletcher stared at me in surprise. “Why, they provide a home and put food on the table,” he said. “A man’s job is to provide a home. A woman’s job is to run it. That’s the kind of environment that produces well-adjusted children.”

I arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize there was only one way to raise a child,” I said.

Fletcher sniffed. “Well, there is if you want to raise a decent member of society.”

Harper returned just then, saving me from making what I’m sure Fletcher would consider a very indecent suggestion. “She’s asleep,” Harper said as she sat back down on the couch. “Thank God she’s too little to understand what’s happening.”

Fletcher leaned over and took Harper’s hand in his. I saw Donald’s jaw clench. “My dear,” Fletcher said, “what can I do to help? Do you need a lawyer? Money? I’m more than happy to help in any way.”

Harper smiled politely and shook her head. “That’s very kind of you, Fletcher, but I think I’m fine. My father has retained a lawyer and he’s confident in our case.”

“Well, you know where to reach me, if you need anything,” Fletcher said. “In the meantime, take care of that beautiful baby. I’ll be in touch.” He said his good-byes to the rest of us, and Donald walked him to the door. He returned a moment later and sank wearily into a chair.

“Fletcher Levin has got to be the greatest pocket of untapped natural gas known to man,” he said.